


Worth the Wait

by notenoughtogivebread



Series: Klaine Advent 2016 [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Episode: s02e20 Prom Queen, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-05-01 17:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughtogivebread/pseuds/notenoughtogivebread
Summary: Written for Klaine Advent 2016 prompt: early. When it comes to dates with his husband, Kurt just doesn’t think there’s such a thing as being early. The fluffiest fluff, really.





	Worth the Wait

The reservation was for 6. Kurt was there at 5:30, and instead of hovering around the front desk, he told Kenny that he’d be in the bar. He ordered an aperitif—a Lillet on this late spring day—and then found a quiet corner with a view of the door. He sighed as he settled into his seat and spread out his print copy of the Times. After a day spent in meetings with potential backers, he relished the quiet. Around him, people sat in groups of 2s and 3s, folks on their way home from work in midtown. At the next table, two young women ignored their drinks and each other to tap away on their phones, deep in conversations with their respective lovers. One girl caught him watching, and he retreated before she recognized him, lifting the paper high to shut himself away. 

He gave himself 10 minutes to be virtuous and read the news of the day—politics and crime, City Hall and Capitol Hill. Then, decidedly not looking at his watch or checking on his husband, he turned to the Arts page. He immersed himself in news of gallery openings and reviews of off-Broadway plays. He fantasized a life when he actually had the time to explore all the cultural riches of his adopted home. The birth of the twins, and the challenges of managing a bicoastal life with one child in school and two in diapers, had cut down significantly on any outings that he couldn’t somehow tie to work. That is, when they weren’t trips to the zoo or a puppet show or storyteller or yet another animated movie. All the more reason, he thought, to revel in tonight’s carefully carved-out time apart. He lifted his hand, signaling to the bar waiter that he’d like a refill. 

When it arrived, he folded the paper and pulled out his phone to check his friends-only Facebook feed, catching up on photos of his far-flung friends, their growing careers and families. Sam STILL hadn’t changed his profile pic from the Halloween photo. But their daughter and Mercedes’ nephews made cute Ewoks, and bless Mercedes for allowing him to put her hair in space buns. She must have lost a bet big time that the photo was still out there. He made a note to tease her about it. She looked about 10, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, he thought, tracing the laugh lines by his own eyes. 

Tina had posted another picture of some event to benefit the immigration services center where she worked in Philly. Looks like she had talked them into a cabaret night after all. He hoped that she’d be sending audio files. Elliott had a long, rambling post that had obviously been made in the wee hours of the morning. Kurt checked his calendar and made a note to get together for lunch with his friend when he returned to New York in 3 weeks’ time. He hoped he could squeeze it in before his family flew to Europe. His phone pinged with a notification—“Just getting out of subway”—and he stood, walked back to Kenny, and took his table. Jess, who usually worked their section, stopped by. “Mr. B running late?” 

“Maybe. And maybe I just like being early,” Kurt replied, his smile tight. He took up the wine list then, asking Jess for an order of their signature sheep’s milk ricotta starter for two. The sommelier had just poured their wine into their glasses when Blaine appeared at the door, his eyes shining at sight of Kurt, a story standing in them. Kurt took a deep breath, centering himself, and smiled across at his husband. 

Kenny did his best, but before he could usher Blaine back, a pair of autograph seekers approached him. He signed, smiled, chatted, though his whole person was straining toward the banquette table deep in the restaurant where Kurt waited. 

He waylaid Jess on the way to the table, whispering into his ear. They both laughed, and Blaine slapped the waiter’s back as he turned away. “Don’t get up,” he said as he approached the table and Kurt went to stand; instead, Blaine leaned over to kiss his husband, a bit more thoroughly than Kurt expected. He found himself stiffening, listening for the sounds of cameras, but Blaine just squeezed Kurt’s shoulder and sat, his back to the room and all his movie star charisma focused on Kurt. A plate of grilled oysters appeared at his elbow. 

“What are we celebrating?” Kurt asked as Blaine held a shell across the table. Oysters ALWAYS meant good news. 

“An anniversary,” Blaine replied, eyes dancing. 

Kurt sat back, savoring the tarragon-infused treat. “An anniversary?” He shook his head. “Blaine, our first kiss anniversary was last month.” 

“Our 15th,” Blaine interjected. 

“I remember. And—let’s see—it’s at least another month before the—what is it now—6 years?—anniversary of our first Drama Desk nomination.” 

“YOUR first Drama Desk nomination.” 

“Well, I didn’t win anyway, so really, what we’d ACTUALLY be celebrating is how good you looked in that Thom Browne tux that night.” 

“It was just a rehearsal for the real thing…and last year’s Tony.” Blaine hummed and poked at Kurt’s appetizer. “This is so good. Not oysters, but I do love it.” 

“You’re maddening. Are you really going to make me guess?” 

Blaine feigned surprise. “I thought we were reminiscing.” 

Kurt huffed out his frustration and lifted up his menu. “I got the rosé figuring you were going for the Mussels Fra Diavolo. Think I’m eating lighter than that.” 

Blaine caved quickly. “Okay, okay,” he laughed, and slipped a small booklet into Kurt’s menu. 

“Really? My Junior Year prom?” 

“Look at the date.” Blaine sat back, lifting his wine glass to hide his smile, pleased to have surprised his husband. 

“Where did you _find_ this?” 

“When I was helping Mama turn Cooper’s room into the girls’ playhouse last summer. Turned out it was in the pocket of the dinner jacket I wore that night, which was stuffed into the back of the closet in his room. I _know_ I gave that suit to her for dry-cleaning. She must have figured I’d never fit in it again—and she kept it, the old softie.” 

“Says the man celebrating the 15th anniversary of a high school dance,” Kurt laughed. 

“I think I’m celebrating something more important tonight.” 

Kurt leaned on his hand, shaking his head fondly. “And that would be?” 

_“You._ You in that kilt. You on that stage—throwing all that hate back at those silly kids. Just YOU.” 

It was just what he needed—not just a date with this impossible romantic, but a night when he could just be Kurt—not Daddy, or Boss, or “that annoying diva.” And his charmer could just be Blaine—not Papa, not Nightwing the movie star, not his perfectionist costar. So if that meant they took turns steering the conversation away from the latest cute thing Mary Grace said, or Finn Samuel’s tough time cutting his 2-year-old molars, or politics, or Broadway, or the politics of Broadway, or anything really except flirting outrageously and reminiscing, he was okay with that. 

“I’m just saying,” Blaine opined an hour later, gesturing with the fork holding his chocolate mousse pie. “Taking you on at Vogue was not just Isabelle Wright taking pity on another kid from small-town Ohio. You had some INSPIRED outfits.” 

“Thanks?” 

“Really. Your Alexander McQueen phase was one of my favorites.” 

“Are we back to the kilt? You don’t have it in your bag there, do you?” 

“Would you wear it for me if it was?” Blaine asked, a challenge in his eyes. 

“I grew about a foot after that prom. It would barely cover my thighs.” 

Blaine leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, holding a forkful of dessert out to his husband. “Do tell.” 

“You’re awful. And a tease.” He took the chocolate morsel and rolled it around in his mouth. “I wish we could just stay here all night, but you know we have to get back to—” 

“Shhh,” Blaine whispered. “What if I told you that I got Auntie Rachel to agree to keep the twins overnight and to take them to CMOM tomorrow morning? And for Allison to pick up Gracie from Carlos’ birthday party? She says she can stay for that perusal of _Cathedral_ Gracie’s been dying for.” 

“And?” 

“And got us a room at the Saint Regis?” 

Kurt actually squealed in delight. Blaine signaled for Jess to bring the check. “I didn’t realize it had gotten as bad as that. Poor dear.” 

“The pillows on their beds, Blaine. I swear, one of these times I’m gonna just steal one.” 

“You do know we can afford to just buy one.” 

“It wouldn’t be the same. Not that I don’t love our bedroom at home, but…” 

Blaine paid the check, then stood, holding out his arm to his husband. “I’m just going to have to find more anniversaries to celebrate.” 

They hurried out to the car waiting at the curb, ignoring the flashes of the paparazzi camping on the street outside, Blaine whispering his plans for the night into his blushing husband’s ear. 

Kurt slid into the back seat, pulling Blaine close. As his husband mouthed along his throat, he mock-sighed. “I guess we’ll have to just keep making memories, difficult as that is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Set when they are in their early 30s. Fifteen years removed from the events of Prom Queen. Blaine and Kurt are successful, Kurt on stage as an actor, writer, and producer and with his clothing design "hobby", a powerhouse of New York society; Blaine on stage and screen as an actor and as a musician; he's the face of a superhero franchise, but his favorite role is as the musical collaborator on Kurt's plays/musicals. They are also fathers of 3 kids, the little girl Rachel is carrying at the end of canon and boy/girl twins from those donated eggs of Quinn's.


End file.
